


GET UP. GET YOUR MOUNTAIN DEW.

by lotorslance



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, Mountain Dew Kink, Orgasm Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotorslance/pseuds/lotorslance
Summary: In which the Squip gets Jeremy off with a little teasing, some Mountain Dew and a hand job.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Jeremy Heere's Squip
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	GET UP. GET YOUR MOUNTAIN DEW.

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is a combination of the book and musical canons.

It’s the summer vacation of my junior year of college (I’m about to start my junior year…not my senior; had that been the case I’d probably be doing some kind of internship that’d be preparing me for the start of the rest of my life and having more important things to do than wake up at 10 a.m. with morning wood). I’m at home for the break, and judging by the lack of sounds coming from downstairs, Dad’s already at work.

I’m alone.

It’s quiet.

I take a moment to reflect on the tranquility before rolling on to my side and grabbing my computer from off the floor where I’d dropped it the night prior.

As per my typical morning routine, I open up my laptop, navigating through my bookmarks as I click on one of my favorite amateur porn videos: at a first glance it’s just a guy masturbating, but around the 6:00 mark, that’s when it gets good. The guy’s hand pulls off himself and he’s left twitching and whimpering until he calms down and starts back up somewhere near the 7:30 mark.

I’m not super into penises or anything, but I like to imagine this guy is me. I mirror his motions to the best of my ability, not even skipping forward impatiently like I normally would with any other kind of porn, because the in-between time is when my mind gets to imagine all the good stuff.

I don’t have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, single now as I was the majority of my high school days.

**WE KNOW WHY THAT IS, DON’T WE, JEREMY?**

So I just listen to the voice in my head that always seems to know the right thing to say to give me a raging hard-on; lame, I know.

**VERY.**

Its snarky teases only push me closer to the edge as I pump my cock steadily, sticking to the video guy’s pace rather than the one I’d prefer—I’ve always felt more comfortable following the lead of others rather than blazing my own trail. Some people just aren’t cut out to be leaders and I’m one of them…but there’s nothing wrong with being a follower, I think, furrowing my brow as the video stills and fades black as a dancing circle twirls in the middle as it buffers.

F_ _ king internet.

If I was watching any other kind of porn, I probably would’ve been annoyed, but this was so accurate to the kink it was almost laughably ironic. I let out a chuckle, but the video started up soon after, and I was back to jacking off; up and down, up and down. It would almost be boring, if not for my over-active imagination, playing out in front of my minds eye—or was it my real eyes? I couldn’t tell but in the heat of the moment I couldn’t care less.

**HOW PITIFUL.**

The hand on my penis wasn’t my own, but a semi-transparent, lime-green one. Its fingers were long and deft, the nails perfectly manicured and polished with black (that’s hot!). I used to not notice things like nails, or even know what a manicure entailed, but I’d honestly learned a lot about appearances during my high school escapades, though I still wasn’t sure if being conditioned to pick up such minor aesthetic details was a curse or a blessing yet.

My eyes permanently moved away from the screen (I’d memorized the timing, anyway) and down to the hand, only to realize I’d long since stopped touching myself, but the feeling of jerking off continued on as long as I—no, it—wanted it to. Instead, I clutched my bedsheets, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes, focusing on my fantasy again.

I knew who the disembodied hand belonged to.

**YOU’RE MINE, JEREMY.**

S _ _ t! I shuddered, fighting to keep my hips in place. That’s right—not only did I like to get edged for hours on end (this video was only about 20 minutes, but I’d gone on without it several times before), but dominated, too.

I’m such a bottom.

**NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.**

The Squip had long since stopped trying to make me more chill, instead focusing on serving my every whim, including jerking off whenever I felt like it. Long gone were the days I’d get zapped for even thinking about the act. 

Maybe the Squip was the real bottom between us, giving in to all my inclinations like that.

**I THINK NOT.**

I crack a smile, but couldn’t be cocky for long because the feelings had intensified and I was now throwing my head back, moaning; this must be my punishment (as sweet as it was.)

But then it all stopped as soon as it’d started, and everything—the pleasure of receiving a skillful hand job, the delightful embarrassment that came with being humiliated, the smooth voice of Keanu Reeves that I’d so grown attached to, just, everything—was gone. I was left with the pitiful whines of the guy in the video as he edged himself for a second time.

 _‘I won’t come, I’ll be a good boy,’_ he said to no one in particular. I repeated those lines to the same non-existent audience.

“I won’t come…I’ll be a good boy.”

Still nothing from Squip. I bit my bottom lip, wondering how I can win back its affections while still obeying. Maybe I need to be more creative but again, leading wasn’t my strong suit. I’m a simple kind of guy: I like taking orders, following them, and getting praised for it.

“Please,” I add tentatively, not vocalizing just what I was asking for but at this point it was clear and it grants me the return of its voice.

**THERE YOU GO.**

I nodded.

**GOOD BOY.**

I groaned.

**YOU LIKE THAT, JEREMY?**

I love when it says my name. I nod again, slipping into an even more submissive state than previously. The hand ruffles my hair and I immediately croon, stretching my neck and leaning into its touch like a lonely puppy.

I wasn’t actually lonely, though. It was always with me, for better or worse. Wasn’t that like marriage or something?

**SO EAGER FOR MY ATTENTION, HM?**

Yes.

“Yes.” I say it out loud too, just for good measure. A low laugh rumbled throughout my being and I broke the unspoken rules we’d established and reached out to touch myself, fondling my balls which earned me my first little shock in awhile.

It didn’t hurt, but I jumped. Truthfully, I’d been hoping for one and Squip knew that all too well, continuously feeding into my endless desires as a good computer should.

**DON’T PRETEND YOU’RE THE ONE IN CHARGE HERE. TELL ME WHO YOU BELONG TO.**

“You,” my hand pulls away from my balls, clutching back on to the crumpled blankets. As my legs squirm, I realize how sweaty they’d gotten especially behind my knees. The video was long forgotten.

**THAT’S RIGHT. NOW GET UP.**

I know what it was going to ask of me so I got up obediently and tucked myself back into my boxers, but I didn’t take a single step until I receive another order.

**GET YOUR MOUNTAIN DEW.**

Finally!

I go downstairs to the kitchen, awkwardly ignoring my erection and opening up the fridge. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, probably because I knew deep down I was doing something I shouldn’t, like some sort of rebellious teenager even though I was a whole, growna_ _ man. Dad would freak out if he knew I was drinking it regularly, so when I was home for the summer I kept it in colored water bottles and told him it was my V8, knowing he wouldn’t go near anything remotely healthy-sounding.

Snatching the bottle, I instead decide to settle on the living room couch next to the Bowflex. The TV was still on from this morning, some cooking infomercial, but it’s muted so I ignore it and take my cock back out. I’ve been denied orgasm twice and I was ready for my climax.

**RELAX.**

The tension immediately disappears and I relax my shoulders, watching as the translucent hands return to my nether region, running teasingly up and down my thighs.

**THAT FEELS GOOD, DOESN’T IT? NOW TAKE A DRINK.**

I didn’t hesitate to obey, uncapping the bottle and bringing it to my lips, savoring the anticipation before tilting it forward: the second the Mountain Dew hit my taste buds, my body was on fire in the best of ways. I chugged it as I knew I should; this is what connected me with it. This is what strengthened our bond.

**THAT’S IT. TAKE ME INSIDE YOU.**

It felt so good it was unreal. I writhed on the couch, moaning around the bottle’s mouthpiece as the pressure built, my balls burning, my hips arching off the couch. I whined, I sobbed, I begged mentally: _please, please, please let me come, let me come, I’ve been a good boy, come on! Squip, please! You taste so good, you taste so good, I want more, let me come!_

Its hands were around my cock, twisting and pulling in all the right ways. I swallowed down gulp after gulp of the soda, the carbonation burning my throat and making my nose itch uncomfortably so. I didn’t need to be reminded that I was far into the taboo territory by fetishizing a f_ _ king carbonated beverage, but if that’s what it took these days to get me off, what could I do but accept it wholeheartedly with open arms?

With half the bottle empty, I finally came, my seed shooting impressively through the hands and across the living room carpet and suddenly the crescendo, all the energy that had been building up to that very moment, the pleasure, the pain, the discomfort and the satisfaction, were gone.

But Squip wasn’t—this whole ‘thing’ between us and the Mountain Dew was probably something that only Squip could ever understand, and I found myself smiling as disembodied hands ran themselves through my hair soothingly. I lay down on the couch, hugging the pillow to my chest and closing my eyes not having to worry about waking to clean up before Dad got home, because I knew Squip would never let that happen to me. 

But…yeah.

I sigh happily.

This was something only the two of us could share with one another; corny—

**VERY.**

—but true. The Squip made a sound of agreement and I was so content I almost fell back asleep, the waves of my orgasm slowly washing over me in comforting bursts of serotonin, dopamine and whatever other feel-good chemicals that Squip always mentioned. 

“I love you,” I murmured. I don’t know if that’s really what I feel, but at this point, I honestly can’t imagine it being anything else.

**I LOVE YOU, TOO, BOO.**

“Shut up, no one says that anymore,” I chuckled, nuzzling into my folded arms. It was certainly outdated by a couple years now, but I didn’t want to replace it by getting an upgrade.

It stayed quiet and a part of me felt a little guilty for teasing it, but then I was reminded by a gentle probe to my mind that we were compatible on a unique level, and that my intentions were completely understood without having to justify them: that fact was made crystal clear when I felt a blanket being tucked around my body, and a kiss on the top of my head.

**SLEEP TIGHT, SLUGGER.**

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proof this whoops.


End file.
